


Conviction

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-29
Updated: 2006-03-29
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer, but the secret of redemption lies in remembrance. (08/26/2002)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Formerly known as "Convicting A Renegade," but I grew very unhappy with the title. Sorry.  


* * *

Everything is empty.

There is only the sound of his footsteps in the hall, bringing a momentary sense of relief to the unease he is feeling. Returning every year is becoming a ritual of sorts, but his tolerance for crowds has diminished. He had been recognized the first time, was even asked for a photograph. Interest hasn't died like his sister predicted.

He could never make his father understand what he was thinking in the first place, but he supposes he had never wanted that. Acceptance would have been fine. It figures that the old man would be right. The irony of it is killing him.

The dimly lit hallway arches into a corridor of windows as he walks. For a moment, he stops and looks up, but the stars are hidden. The nightglow of the city makes sure of that, but it is probably just as well. The man in the moon stares down accusingly as he resumes his deliberate pace.

For the last three years, he has forgotten why he went up there in the first place. It surely was not to impress his parents; he had long accepted their particular form of love. Perhaps he had hoped to find something, but space had been an end, not the beginning it was hoped it to be.

He knew there should have been a conviction. The Vulcan High Command had requested it, saying that it was the only rational course of action. After all, they had lost one of their own as well. The Starfleet tribunal had shown compassion instead, and he'd been disappointed with the decision to allow him his freedom.

* * *

Comfort has become rare these last few years. Maybe he had had it once, but he does not remember as much. He figures it is probably the universe's way of righting itself. And perhaps he would not want it any other way.

Eyes burn as he walks towards the monument, erected two years ago on the anniversary of the disaster. Nothing has changed since the last visit. Reed glances upwards once again, through the dome glass windows where a holographic projector is casting the Starfleet insignia. Almost disappointed to see the moon, visible through an overhanging willow, he contemplates its sentient expression for a moment. The solitude is almost sickening.

Looking back, his hands start to pull out of his pockets to touch the plaque in front of him, but he stuffs them back in and observes instead. Funny how alien their names seem, even though he thinks of them every day. For once, Commander Tucker had seemed tired of debating the pragmatic aspects of acceptable risk, but he still had had to fight for the chance to begin testing his prototype. Preliminary data was necessary, after all.

The trial run took place early the next morning. The shuttlepod was launched and in orbit before the alpha crew had a chance to climb out of their beds. They had probably died there too.

His father was right to believe that he took risks most wouldn't. The consequences, to that point, had never taught him otherwise.

* * *

Rain begins to fall against the bowed window above his head. Reed cocks his ear to the side and listens to the window vibrate beneath the force of the prevailing wind. Dark clouds move to block the moonlight, and the monument draws into shadow. He tries to read more, but his vision has become blurred.

Outside, it pours and pours.

His fingers trace across his right palm subconsciously. Like a trophy, he wears a crescent-shaped scar where she had bitten him, a product of dislocating her shoulder on a diplomatic envoy. In hindsight, perhaps they should have seen it coming. He had entertained the notion that enthusiasm for first contact simply masked their objectivity, but Reed no longer affords himself that particular luxury.

The ambush had caught them unsuspecting, and the two had become caught in a trading of weapon's fire. The unnatural terrain fortunately provided some cover, but the phase pistols were ill equipped to provide any protection. Waiting for the Enterprise to return, they had pressed into the dark side of a cavern, hidden not even ten feet from their enemy. Her teeth ripped a sizable chunk of flesh from his hand when he wrenched her arm back into its joint. If she had screamed, they would have been killed.

The six hour wait had felt like days.

Returning to the ship with a rescue detail, he had wanted to tell her how proud he was, but of course he did not. Reeds were never very good at expressing themselves, and the word on the street was that she had a mean left hook. It was never his intention to find out if there was any truth to that particular rumour. Then again, he would never have expected for her to take up residence in his heart, either.

It is her death that chases him, even three years later. Even though she died the same as the rest. These days, he relentlessly reminds himself that he could have saved her. There was no way he was letting her onboard the shuttlepod the next day with her shoulder nearly useless, despite the fact that she was assigned to accompany him. He had not requested her for the assignment because of her communication skills, anyway.

Staring at the memorial, he is compelled to walk away. It seems rather ironic that rather than being held responsible for the destruction of the pride of Starfleet, he's going down in history for the exact same thing. After all, those new photon torpedoes have been rather useful. The paradox is parasitic to his pragmatic soul.

Choking out a cough, Reed sits down on the marble steps, facing away from the monument. Flowers left earlier in the day stand dying against the stone wall. For a long moment he pauses, staring but not seeing, as detached from reality as he has ever been. Then he rests his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. The silence is deafening, and he pulls the skin on his temples away with cold palms.

Exhaling a slow, shuddering breath, he feels much the same as he did then, even beginning to shiver faintly. It is not cold inside the thermally regulated environment of the monument, but his thin coat provides little protection against the cold that permeates from within.

* * *

"Malcolm?"

A voice pierces his thoughts, and he uncertainly looks up. At first, he doubts his eyes, having been fooled too many times in the last three years. Yet he cannot mistake the black shine of her hair, and her rigid spine is almost just as sound as he remembers. His mouth drops and he realizes that she looks different from the last time he saw her. Or exactly the same. Maybe it is her. Maybe it's a dream.

Or perhaps he is still seeing ghosts. He does not believe in the afterlife.

Marvellously, she is there still, and he waits for something to happen. He wants to say something but chokes on his tangled thoughts. The words are hesitant when they come, yet painfully astonished.

"How can you be here?" he murmurs under his breath. She is watching him carefully, and he stands quickly to look closer. The freckle on her right temple winks at him until he has to pull his eyes away. "I thought no one made it off." Feeling unsteady and weak, he reaches for her, expecting her to vanish. Instead she helps him sit down before knees buckle beneath him.

Carefully she bends and places lilies at the foot of the marble. He notices she has cut her hair. In fact, he cannot take his eyes off of her. He doesn't remember the last time she looked so beautiful. The monument seems to have entranced her, but she is only staring at her name in the plaque. After a moment, she turns back to him.

"Your sister told me you were probably here. I didn't know where to start looking for you, so I went to her. I hope you don't mind." She sits down beside him, letting their shoulders brush gently. "Apparently you don't call as much as she'd like."

"I should hope Madeline knows me better than that. I've never been one for idle conversation." Not to mention the fact that he is often the focal point. In his opinion, that's never an ideal topic for conversation. It goes against his efforts to wallow in self-pity. Reed waits again, knowing she will answer his questions when she wants to. He's afraid to speak anyway, in case he drives her away.

Her voice is soft when she speaks. "You don't look so good, Malcolm. Have you been taking care of yourself?" A small snort escapes him, and he finally looks away. They sit, not saying anything, until he can hardly bear it and must turn back to look at her again. This time, she is frowning at the expression on his face.

"I made it to an escape pod, but I wasn't picked up for days. The Vulcans promised to return me home. Instead, I was shuttled between ships until they completed their investigation. I'm surprised you weren't told that I was alive. Starfleet wasn't told either, though. At least, they're nothing if not consistent." For a moment, she looks like she is choking in anger. His heart breaks for her.

"I haven't had much contact with Starfleet. Or society in general, for that matter. I've only just returned to the city," he says, enthralled with her perfume that smells faintly of sea salt. "They keep offering me a command of my own, but I don't see how I could possibly go back up there." His heart is still pounding in his chest, and he's filled with an energy that leaves him shaking. Impulsively, he gets up to stand in front of her, hands gesturing wildly as his brain continues the conversation. It is quiet and he can hear the willows branches tapping on the large glass overhead. The rain splashes gently against the dome.

She is still sitting, knees together and hands crossed tightly across her stomach. He is staring down at her again, imagining he can see through her to the marble behind. A lump rises thickly in his throat. "I can't believe it, Hoshi. You have no idea what these last few years have been like â€” "

His sentence is interrupted when she stands as well. As if afraid he will break, she leans in and hugs him.

"I missed you too. They told me you had been picked up in the shuttlepod and returned to Earth, but by the time I got back it seemed that everyone had lost track of you." Her voice is hoarse and heartbreakingly sad. He feels her tears, damp on his bare neck. "It's still so hard to think of everyone being gone."

He feels the need to confess and pulls away from her body. "So I can assume that you have spoken with Starfleet about the accident?" She nods and he continues, looking shamefully at the marble monument. "Then you also must know that the photon torpedoes were the cause of the hull breach." He is terrified he'll see disappointment in her large black eyes, so he avoids looking at her until he cannot stand it anymore. Maybe she didn't hear him.

He repeats himself to her, then again in his head. She has covered her mouth with her hand, and her whispers resound with both horror and compassion. "Malcolm, the photon torpedoes never hit Enterprise. There was no point of impact or explosion until the hull breach." Her head shakes back and forth almost violently. "The Vulcans still aren't sure of the true cause, but they ruled out the photon torpedoes." Her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "Oh my God, I can't believe you didn't know that."

Reed gazes horrifically at the monument, feeling himself break from within. He is trembling again, uncontrollably, and his breath comes in short, gasping pants. He hopes she doesn't see his eyes filling as well.

"You're kidding," he says in disbelief, then almost laughs. His father is rolling in his grave, he is sure. Wiping her eyes, Hoshi shakes her head.

She takes him cautiously by the arm, and they walk in silence towards the hall. "Come on. Why don't we go and get a cup of coffee." He nods at her suggestion, suddenly too tired to tell her that he hates coffee. The wind howls outside, trying to get in, but he walks closer to his friend instead. He'll thank every deity he can for this chance at redemption. Perhaps he has found salvation in her return.

At the doors, he stops suddenly before she steps outside. "It's raining," he says apprehensively. "You're going to get wet." He can't help being overprotective of her.

She looks out the window, an expression of confusion crossing her face. "No, it's not. It hasn't rained today." Gently, she tugs on his arm and slowly leads him outside.

He waits to feel the drizzle falling against his face, but it never comes. The ground is dry, and glancing up, the stars are twinkling down at him like he's never seen before.


End file.
